Chapter One

“Behold, I send you out as sheep in the midst of wolves.”

“Solfege,” a voice called softly.

“Mama?” a child responded, confusion lacing the word.

“Hush,” the mother urged, her voice a gentle command.

It wasn’t her mother calling for her. She jumped, feeling her mother’s gossamer touch. 

“What’s happening, Mama?” the child asked, looking up into her mother’s varnished olive eyes, filled with a mix of fear and trust. 

“Darling, there isn’t much time. There are people coming, bad people, so don’t make noise. Be quiet like Mommy,” she instructed, her tone urgent yet soothing as she pressed her finger to Solfege’s lips. 

“What people, Mommy?” the child pressed, eyes wide with innocence.

Suddenly, a gruff voice echoed from outside their adobe house, “Hello?” 

The woman stiffened, her grip tightening into Solfege’s arm. The young girl squirmed uncomfortably but remained silent. 

Despite the silence, the man spoke again, “ Sir, I think I have something.”

“Fuck,” the woman hissed, her wide fearful eyes squeezing shut in painful acceptance.

Solfege could feel the shift in tension, and stifled a gasp of realization. They were in imminent danger and there was nothing she could do about it. 

Her mother motioned to a hatch across the room. Only one of them could make it without drawing attention. 

As quietly as possible, Solfege half crawled, half stumbled across the room to the safety of the hatch, locking eyes with her mother as she shut the lid behind her. 

The woman threw open the door without hesitation and sat down in the living room of the only home Solfege had ever known. 

“We have a body,” the man outside stated, his voice heavy with implications.

“Alive or dead?” came the terse reply.

What? The child’s heart raced at the uncertainty.

“Dead,” the man mumbled, striking flint, and a shot rang out, echoing ominously overhead.

Solfege startled awake in the dark of night.

Shit, she thought. She couldn’t remember the last time she slept soundly. 

Twenty-eight thousand eight hundred seconds. How many towns had that been?

Their country, Evetika, was divided by an arched isthmus into eastern and western regions. The east was home to two major areas, Eccheggiare (Eck-edge-ee-ari, it means Echo) and Vicendevole, with 5 city capitals scattered across the landscape. The army had moved south and then west through the vast Morendo Forest, leaving destruction in their wake. Orders had been clear: nothing should survive.

Three major towns stood in their path: Amaranthine, the capital of Vicendevole; Virtuoso, located northeast of Eccheggiare; and Sunahoshiro, perched northwest by the sea. The lieutenant calculated the toll: around fifty thousand people—dead, missing, imprisoned, or displaced.

Having been part of this society for a decade, the lieutenant reflected on the grim tally of lives taken. When she and her Commander met that fateful day, she knew she was turning her soul over to the very people who took her mother’s life. 

“Only men,” she had told him. She wouldn’t kill women, children, or animals. Granted, that didn’t change the fact that those deaths were still around her, but she could at least control her contribution to it. 

Now, as they advanced westward, cutting through the forest toward Bravado City, the weight of Operation Accesso pressed heavily upon them. She couldn’t continue to live in ambiguity. 

Victory was within reach, but a haunting question lingered: who would be left to enjoy that freedom?

Visions plagued their waking hours, images of things that weren’t there. Each attempt to close their eyes and find rest was met with the relentless reminder of bloodshed. It felt as if they were not truly present, as if none of them were. They were simply imposters. 

“I don’t have to be here anymore. I can make this end,” the lieutenant murmured, a flicker of determination igniting within.

Solfege’s boots clicked rhythmically against the makeshift, industrial floor of the mobile command center. Today would be her final day. As she approached the looming figure of her Commander, Chiuso, her hand trembled slightly around the grip of the ceremonial blade that she had drawn, its gleaming edge casting a stark contrast against the dull palette of the room. 

The air was thick with the weight of years of bloodshed and futile battles, the very essence of the war that had come to define the lives of every soldier in the Imposter army. Solfege had borne witness to the countless sacrifices and the slow decay of hope, and now, as the final notes of a silent crescendo built within her, she knew the time had come to confront the man who had led them into this abyss. Who had led her into this. 

Her eyes never left Chiuso’s as she stopped before his desk, the blade pointing unwaveringly at his heart, a silent question hanging in the air: was he truly the monster she had painted in her mind, or did he still need more time for his promises to her to come to fruition?

Chiuso looked up from the scattered maps and reports that littered his desk, his eyes meeting hers with a calm intensity that belied the chaos of the world outside. He knew why she was here; the whispers of dissent and the desperation of his troops had reached his ears, though he had allowed her the courtesy of believing he was unaware. Rising slowly, he placed his hands flat on the desk and leaned in, his gaze never leaving hers. “Solfege,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “you don’t have to do this. Please, we can talk.” 

Her eyes darkened. 

A sigh, heavy with the burdens of command, slipped from his lips. “Do you truly think you can end this war with the edge of a sword?” His words hung in the air, a counterpoint to the sharpness of the blade that stood between them. 

For a moment, Solfege faltered, the weight of his question sinking into her. Then, with a steely resolve, she tightened her grip and spoke, her voice clear and steady, “Did you?” The room was still, the only sound was the soft hum of the command center’s machinery.

With a swift, decisive motion, Solfege lunged forward, the ceremonial blade sinking deep into Chiuso’s chest. His eyes widened in shock, but he made no sound, his hand reaching up to grasp the hilt as he stumbled backward, pinned against the wall. Trickling down a blade of treason, his blood warmed her trembling fingers. 

The room erupted into chaos like a desperate gasp for air, as the other officers, loyal to their Commander, leapt to his defense, their shouts and the clang of drawn weapons drowning out the final whispers of Solfege’s desperate plea, “Chiuso, there is nothing on the other side of this! Life cannot exist where there is war. Love cannot exist where there is hate–and without love there is nothing worth living for.”

They descended upon her, a whirlwind of steel and rage. She thrashed, and screamed, but her resolve was no match for their numbers. One by one, they disarmed her, the blade slipping from her hand to clatter to the floor, forgotten amidst the tumult. 

“Chiuso, please! You’re acting just like your father.”

The man and her locked eyes once more before a blow to the head sent her spiraling into darkness. She could feel herself being hoisted roughly into the air before the world went black. 

When she awoke, she was lying on the cold floor, her limbs bound tightly with rough ropes that bit into her skin. Chiuso was gone, taken away to be tended to by the medical staff, and in his stead, a ring of stoic faces stared down at her, their expressions a mix of betrayal and disgust. She struggled against her restraints, a fiery determination burning in her chest, but it was too late. The die had been cast, and she was now the enemy within their own ranks, left to face the consequences of her actions.

She muffled a scream in spite of herself. She had failed. 

They were children once, when Chiuso had found her, her eyes just as red with tears then, as they were now. 

Years ago, in the frostbitten embrace of a desolate winter, the once-resplendent kingdom of Evetika now laid in ruinous silence, a macabre testament to the merciless dance of power and deceit. Amidst the charred remnants of a world aflame, young Chiuso, eyes glistening with a blend of fear and anger, stumbled through the ash-laden streets. 

The acrid scent of burnt dreams and lost lives clung to the air like a mournful shroud, a silent yet potent reminder of the Imposter army’s ruthless conquest. It was in this grim tableau of destruction that he encountered a scene that would etch itself into the walls of his soul forever: a small, shivering figure cradling the lifeless body of a woman whose graceful form bore the unmistakable pallor of death. Her eyes, though vacant, held a poignant serenity, as if in her final moments she had found solace in the melody of a long-forgotten lullaby. This was Solfege, the girl who would save him, and the mother she had lost to the cold hands of fate–yet another victim claimed by the treachery of Chiuso’s own father—a man who had been part of the regicide that had sown the seeds of the very chaos that now surrounded them.

The memory of the overthrown Queen Allein, Chiuso’s mother, hung heavily in the frigid air, her once-vibrant kingdom of music and light now reduced to a symphony of ash and despair. It was she who had woven the very fabric of Evetika with her enchanting melodies, bringing forth a realm where every creature and object resonated with the soulful vibrations of the cosmos. Yet, the cacophony of betrayal had silenced her voice. 

Her husband, Kantele, driven by insatiable ambition, and her own brother, Maestoso, seduced by the siren call of power, had conspired to shackle her in the darkest of prisons, leaving her to wither away as her creation was torn asunder. The very essence of the world around them, born from her harmonious reign, now lay in tatters, a grim echo of the beautiful symphony that had once resonated through the land. 

As Chiuso approached the heartbreaking scene of Solfege and her mother, the weight of his lineage bore down upon him like an invisible yoke, the guilt of his father’s treachery a constant refrain in his heart. The girl looked up, her own eyes reflecting the same anguish and loss that haunted his own.

“Get away from me!” the girl shrieked, her voice rasp from crying. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Chiuso put his hands up and halted, taking care not to step into any red pools in the dark. 

Fire illuminated Solfege’s face. The war in her emerald eyes aged her, the tears streaking her dirty face creating lines like wrinkles.  

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

Solfege’s eyes scanned Chiuso’s form, looking for signs of decorum, royal emblems, anything that could signal him as a potential threat. It was too dark to tell. 

Much like before, in the chaos of the aftermath, Solfege’s eyes searched frantically for any glimmer of understanding or solidarity. 

Her gaze fell upon a familiar face, Forte. She didn’t know him well, but she knew he was a comrade who had seen the same horrors and felt the same doubt. 

With a silent plea, she hoped that he would recognize the desperation in her eyes, the unspoken truth that this was not just an act of treason but a quest for redemption. The seasoned soldier met her gaze with a flicker of hesitation before stepping forward, shielding her with his body. In a hushed whisper, he promised to help her escape. With swift and practiced movements, he loosened her bonds, and together they slipped through the shadows of the command center, evading the guards that rushed to respond to the alarm.

“Thank you, I’m so sorry.”

Forte nodded at her with a look in his eyes she couldn’t quite decipher.

The air grew colder and the shadows deeper as they moved, the stark reality of her situation setting in with each painful step away from the light of the command center. The weight of Forte’s armor was a comforting presence beside her, a reminder that she had more than an illusion of safety. 

They navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the camp compound, the echoes of their footsteps muffled by the urgency of their flight. Solfege’s thoughts raced, the gravity of her actions sinking in as the sounds of the silent war outside grew fainter and the silence of their escape grew heavier. Her mind was a cacophony of doubt and regret, the image of Chiuso’s shocked expression burnt behind her eyes. 

As they reached the hidden exit, a whisper of a plan began to form in her mind. They would not just run; they would find a way to bring about the peace she had so fervently sought. With a nod to Forte, she pushed aside the heavy metal door and stepped into the inky night, the cool air washing over her like a promise of a new beginning. The stars above seemed to whisper a melody of freedom and rebellion, and together, they set off into the unknown, ready to face whatever consequences awaited them as long as it brought them one step closer to ending the war that had claimed too many lives.

The night was alive with the distant thunder of artillery and the mournful cries of the injured, a stark contrast to the quiet resolve that had taken root in Solfege’s heart. With Forte’s guidance, they weaved through the treacherous landscape of the war-torn compound, the moon casting long shadows that stretched out before them like the fingers of fate itself. Each shadow was a potential threat, a reminder that the price of their actions could be high. Yet, the bond that had just formed between them, forged in the fires of shared suffering and hope for a better future, was stronger than the chains that had once bound her. They moved as one, each step carrying them further from the clutches of the Imposter army and closer to the possibility of redemption. 

The stench of death and decay grew faint behind them, replaced by the scent of the earth, untouched by the ravages of war, hinting at the beauty that could once again flourish in their world if only peace would reign. As they reached the edge of the camp, the silhouettes of the guards grew more distinct, their eyes scanning the horizon for signs of the enemy. Solfege took a deep breath, her pulse quickening in her ears, as they prepared to slip into the no man’s land that separated them from their chance at a new beginning. With a silent nod, they dashed forward, their shadows dancing on the ground as they disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind the crumbling empire of the Imposter and the echoes of a war that they vowed to end.

Their escape was not without peril, as the night air was pierced by the sharp sounds of alarm bells tolling in the distance. The guards, alerted to their treachery, had begun their pursuit, their shouts and the clank of their weapons growing louder with each passing moment. Solfege and Forte sprinted across the uneven terrain, their breaths ragged and their hearts pounding in their chests. 

The boundary of the camp grew closer, a thin line of light that promised both danger and freedom. They could feel the eyes of their former comrades upon them, a mix of anger and confusion. Yet, as they approached the final obstacle, a towering barbed wire fence, the world outside the campfire’s glow called to them with whispers of peace and the sweet embrace of the night. With a surge of adrenaline, Forte boosted Solfege over the fence, her boots catching briefly on the barbs before she dropped to the other side. He followed swiftly, the fence shaking as his bulk hit the ground. They paused for a brief second, listening to the chaos behind them, then took off again, their legs burning with the effort. The night swallowed them whole, the stars above their only witnesses as they ran from the only life they had ever known. The war was a living creature now, a beast that howled for their return, but they had set their course and would not be deterred. Their path was fraught with peril, but it was a path they chose willingly, driven by the music of change that resonated within their very souls. The melody grew stronger with each step, a symphony of hope that grew louder than the din of war, and as they disappeared into the embrace of the night, they became more than just two soldiers on the run; they became the harmony of rebellion, a note of defiance in a world that had lost its tune.

Forte and Solfege slowed their pace once they were a safe distance from the camp, the clamor of the pursuing guards fading into the distance. They found refuge in a small, secluded gully, hidden by the overhang of a rocky outcrop. Forte bent to catch his breath, his chest heaving from the exertion.

“Talk to me.” Forte had finally broken the understood silence.  

This was the first breath they had been able to take. 

“I couldn’t do it anymore. I felt like I was dying.”

The man towered over her, like a bastion. 

“I can’t believe I actually did it, Forte. I thought I’d end it all with one stab. I really thought it would work.”

Solfege leaned her back against a tree before sliding down to the ground. Her body ached from the nonstop running, from the ropes that had been around her wrists. 

Forte pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing. 

“Did you think they’d just give up? You know what those bastards are like. They won’t stop until they crush anyone who opposes them.”

Solfege shook her head. “I was desperate… I thought my rank could give me an advantage—to make it easier to talk to them, become a voice of reason. But I… I didn’t expect them to react like that.”

“They’re the Imposter army, Sol. They thrive on fear and obedience. You went against that. You created a spark, but it comes at a cost.”

Solfege’s voice shook, “And now I’m labeled a traitor. I just wanted—no, needed to end the bloodshed.”

Forte too, slid down the tree he had been resting against. 

“You didn’t just attack Chiuso; you attacked the very core of this senseless conflict,” he continued. “Traitor or not, you did what anyone else wishes they could do.”

“I was so afraid,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “Afraid that I was the only one who saw the madness, that no one else cared enough to stand against it.”

The duo sat in silence. Solfege was on edge still. She had been aware of Forte but didn’t know him personally. She was still in shock that he followed her so willingly. 

“So, what do we do now? They’ll be hunting us down. It’s only a matter of time before they send their best after us.”

Forte snorted, “Well, we will have to find others like us. Others who want to fight back in a real way—not just more violence, but a way to expose the truth, to show that there are still people willing to stand against them.”

“Who would join us? After all the propaganda? After finding out who we are?”

“You’d be surprised. There are whispers, Solfege. People are beginning to question what the war is really about. We’ll find them—believers like us. ”